


Excerpt from Book 22 (lost) of The Noniad by Ortus Nigenad, Cavalier Secondary of the Ninth House

by oliviacirce



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Archival Nonsense, Death, Ghosts, Ill-Advised Heroism, Kissing, M/M, Poetry, Swords, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacirce/pseuds/oliviacirce
Summary: Matthias hight Nonius his Deeds and Accomplishments, posthumous.
Relationships: Ortus Nigenad/Matthias Nonius
Comments: 56
Kudos: 89
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Excerpt from Book 22 (lost) of The Noniad by Ortus Nigenad, Cavalier Secondary of the Ninth House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria/gifts).



> Scanning the lines of _The Noniad_ that appear in _Harrow_ may be the most ridiculous thing I have ever done for yuletide, but I went with something that is vaguely dactylic enneameter operating badly under some basic epic poetry rules. Ortus is not a great poet, but he's very committed. Many thanks to epershand and Lilith, and to mistresscurvy for letting me whine at her about the garbage meter even though she hasn't read the book.

_Notes on Archive File 127311.960/48 Vermillion Epsilon Ninth ?? (origin unknown): This is nonsense. Where did it even come from? Archivist Hexet claims it really is part of Ortus Nigenad's appalling verse epic about Matthias Nonius—and honestly, hard to say how it could be anything else, when anyone in their right mind would consign classical enneameter to the darkest pits of hell—but Nigenad died in a shuttle crash with only nineteen books completed. Not to say worse things haven't happened from beyond the grave, but how did it get here? Library rules would normally call for a spirit-talker, but since it appeared on hand-scribbled, bloody-edged sheets of something that seems to be real, actual vellum (??!!), we've locked it up tight down at level seventeen. Archeo want to get their grubby mitts on it, but Hexet says it's ours due to literary merit. (What literary merit??) Last thing I want to do is spend months trying to track down the origins of this terrible poem when there's not a single thanergetic signature on the thing that makes sense. King Undying save me. —Archivist (third class) Daniel Shisha_

Into the darkness he led them, his newfound companions of  
honour; the River rose up around them, a tomb.  
"Come, my brave fellows," spake Nonius, unquenchable sword of the  
Ninth. "We will conquer this beast together,  
"Even speaking in meter." Battered but unbowed by death,  
he launched himself into the River.  
Following, bloody and torn, holding the rapier of Drearburh,  
came I, Ortus the unworthy.  
Striding beside me was Dyas, stern cavalier of the Second,  
clear-eyed and deadly as her sword's edge,  
Honed in the Emperor's service to sever bones from ligaments  
and heads from beastly shoulders,  
White wore she for the Cohort and her lost lady,  
smeared with the blood of revenge.  
"Judith's alive," said she, frowning at Nigenad. "Vengeance seems  
a bit much; wouldn't you call it a quest,  
"Seeking out valour and glory beyond the unknown, so we died  
taking some fucking monsters with us?"  
Angrily added Dyas, "Goddamnit now you've got me doing it;  
a pox on your poetry, Nigenad."  
Hard on our heels, courageously keeping the rear guard,  
Protesilaus the Seventh opened his lips,  
"Golden is Poetry, immortal truth of the Soul, all that  
remains when we lie in our coffins unmourned,  
"Star-like is Poetry, burning above like Dominicus,  
rising in grace upon Roses Unblown,  
"Fallible flesh is, but verses and bones are eternal." Thus  
spake the bastion of the Seventh House.  
"O my true comrade," I cried, "though once doubtful I found thee,  
perceiving a poetic rival with no  
"Comprehension of verse forms, now I see clearly: tributes are  
due to thy wisdom and thy great mettle,  
"Bold as the heroes of old and robust as the wall of a  
palace, with sinews of iron and stone!  
"None could now doubt thee, O staunchest of cavaliers primary,  
golden as Saints everlasting who serve our most  
"Worshipful God." Gravely rang out my voice in the Riverine  
gloaming, disturbing the blood-black waters.  
Then from above us, clear as the ice-caps of Erebus  
rang a great clanging reverberation  
Calling each soldier and servant, each warrior, poet, and  
priestess, each speaker to souls of the dead,  
Bells of the dead lands awaking an army of ghosts; but none  
answered the summons but our meagre band.  
Swords at the ready and off-handeds primed, we stood back to  
back and awaited the coming of monsters.  
Out of the shadows and night-black gloom shone bright the  
light of a Lyctoral power, refracted like candles  
Seen through a watery pool, in all colours prismatic, a  
rainbow of lustrous white, incandescent.  
Tall was the Lyctor and lean as a skeleton left for too  
long in the sun of a scorchéd-black field,  
Flames at his fingertips flickered and danced, though  
bloody and worn was his craggy and ascetic face;  
Tattered his robe was and spattered with viscera, each of his  
limbs ichor-streaked, yet he stood fast despite peril;  
Leant on his powerful spear, huge and bone-handled, scourge of his  
enemies, weapon of dangerous might,  
He turned to face us, his rapier leveléd, ready to  
strike if we made one wrong move, showing ourselves  
Undeserving. "Who the fuck are you people?" demanded the  
Lyctor known for his unbroken duty.  
Then spake Matthias, the greatest of swordsmen ever to  
grace the Ninth House: "Long ago did we  
"Battle, my friend and adversary, facing the threats of our  
foes, but though myriad past not forgotten, a  
"Debt I thought never to fill, for my bones may be scatteréd,  
never interred in their Anastasian home,  
"But Ortus Nigenad, cavalier of my House, spoke with the  
voice of the Tomb shut forever and called  
"Back my soul with his verse everlasting,  
a power unknown to me living or dead;  
"Nigenad's art brought me forth to do battle, discharging my  
debts with my sword, and thus must I charge thee,  
"Saint that is naméd for Duty, thy cavalry answers thy  
call; do not dismiss us back to our graveyards,  
"When there is glory awaiting us here at thy side! Cavaliers  
all—Ninth, Second, and Seventh—we fight  
"For our Houses and hearths; honour is all we desire before  
we are banished beyond resurrection."  
Grimly he smiled and offered the hilt of his rapier,  
knucklebones counting out each urgent prayer.  
Gravely the Lyctor took hold of the black blade, receiving the  
vow of the Hero of Drearburh with honour  
Meet to his valour. "How could I forget thee, O Matthias  
Nonius, dreaded by all of thy foes?  
"No mortal since thee has run me so ragged nor held me so  
bravely at bay; but ghost you are still,  
"And your companions, the prey of the beast that I fight; it will  
devour you, shatter your blades and your hearts;  
"Here have I fought it alone and abandoned, my comrades  
deserting the field, but though I welcome you  
"Know that the danger is grievous for shades such as thee; I  
cannot prevent Number Seven from eating  
"Its fill; and worse I must tell you, for soon my own fortitude,  
tried beyond limit and broken by time,  
"Even that strength given to me by God and my cavalier  
falls at last to the beast of this dead planet's  
"Soul; will you speak truly and tell me thy will, for doubtful our  
victory and none left after to praise us."  
"I may yet praise us," I cried, perceiving my moment to  
speak, "for though I fight beside each of you, I also  
"Chronicle all of your glorious deeds! My duty is plain,  
my service to Nonius, regardless of  
"The place or time; should we be blasted, burned, or annihilated,  
still will poetry rise to the skies."  
"Well spoken," said Protesilaus. "Just for the record, said  
Marta the Second, "I'm not afraid of  
"Some ravenous beast. Let it come test my mettle and see for  
itself that the Second is feared for a reason."  
Green-eyed and luminous gazéd the Lyctor on Dyas the  
sword of his House; with a small smile he spake,  
"Chicken-shits do not get beer." He stood tall in the River's  
perpetual twilight and hefted his spear,  
Casting a glimmer of osseous light, "Come my unlooked for  
warriors, Second and Seventh, I'll  
"Show you the tricks that I know; the beast returns presently and  
ready must find us, making our very last stand."  
Of the Ninth said he nothing, but clasped hands with Nonius  
prior to leading the others away.  
Then Nonius looked to me, standing beside him, bloodied by  
ink from my sword; uncertain I waited,  
A poet from stone made, guardian of the Black Gate, until  
I could no longer bear to be still. "O  
"Hero of all the Nine Houses," I cried, "none but thee have I  
idolized, all the long years of my life,  
"Only thy voice could I record in verses and only thy  
deeds could I praise to the meter of home;  
"None but brave Nonius could I have imagined striding  
forth from the grave to protect us when my might  
"Failed the Reverend Daughter; I owe thee not only my  
life after death but also my honour unbent.  
"Thou art my Captain in death as when living, and thine is my  
heart's adoration for all that remains  
"Of our time in the River, though monsters may rend our souls from  
our corpses and leave me with nothing but words."  
"Words are thy power," said Matthias Nonius, taking my  
hands in his own. "For without thy poem,  
"My soul would lie frozen, far from my homeland and lost to the  
dark; but you, Ortus Nigenad, have made me  
"Greater than ever I was when I lived—for thou truly art  
Ortus the Ninth and the Soul of our House."  
So saying he kissed me; startled I stumbled and Matthias  
caught me in arms hard as gauntlets of iron,  
Bloody our lips were, but nothing could stop me from tasting that  
belovéd mouth; I kissed him again and  
Again I poured reverence into each press of my lips; and  
though I was taller, Nonius held me,  
Fast in the strength of his arms; with bloody fingers he touched  
my skull paint, sacramental in feeling at last,  
I would not have halted but for one reason: the shadows  
around us grew sharper than sword-points and light  
Like the heart of a blue candle flame shimmered ghost-like  
and treacherous, calling us forth to the fight.  
"It comes," said the Lyctor, surveying his forces. "Eternal  
torments will soon be our comrades in arms."  
Cheerful his tone was, as he looked around him. "But  
I suppose there are worse ways to go out in the end.  
"You always did like them big, squashy, and soft-hearted,"  
said he to Nonius with a skull's green-eyed grin.  
"Brave are my fellows," spake Matthias Nonius, hefting his  
sword in his hand, "though few our number, we shall  
"Be remembered long after we depart these shores for the  
country unknown; no others would I choose to  
"Battle beside me in any world or time, for these are the  
stalwart, the constant, the res—

 _Here the parchment ends in a jagged tear, likely rescuing us all from a great deal more misery; Nonius is famous for his speechifying. —Archivist D.S._

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to Abigail Pent. Ortus will probably write _The Pentiad_ in the belly of the Resurrection Beast.


End file.
